CATHERINE (letting him go and turning amazed to Raina).
The poor dear! Raina!!! (She looks sternly at her
daughter. The man sleeps profoundly.)

ACT II

The sixth of March, 1886. In the garden of major
Petkoff's house. It is a fine spring morning; and
the garden looks fresh and pretty. Beyond the
paling the tops of a couple of minarets can he
seen, shewing that there it a valley there, with
the little town in it. A few miles further the
Balkan mountains rise and shut in the view. Within
the garden the side of the house is seen on the
right, with a garden door reached by a little
flight of steps. On the left the stable yard, with
its gateway, encroaches on the garden. There are
fruit bushes along the paling and house, covered
with washing hung out to dry. A path runs by the
house, and rises by two steps at the corner where
it turns out of the right along the front. In the
middle a small table, with two bent wood chairs at
it, is laid for breakfast with Turkish coffee pot,
cups, rolls, etc.; but the cups have been used and
the bread broken. There is a wooden garden seat
against the wall on the left.

Louka, smoking a cigaret, is standing between the
table and the house, turning her back with angry
disdain on a man-servant who is lecturing her. He
is a middle-aged man of cool temperament and low
but clear and keen intelligence, with the
complacency of the servant who values himself on
his rank in servility, and the imperturbability of
the accurate calculator who has no illusions. He
wears a white Bulgarian costume jacket with
decorated harder, sash, wide knickerbockers, and
decorated gaiters. His head is shaved up to the
crown, giving him a high Japanese forehead. His
name is Nicola.

NICOLA. Be warned in time, Louka: mend your manners. I know the
mistress. She is so grand that she never dreams that any servant
could dare to be disrespectful to her; but if she once suspects
that you are defying her, out you go.

LOUKA. I do defy her. I will defy her. What do I care for her?

NICOLA. If you quarrel with the family, I never can marry you.
It's the same as if you quarrelled with me!

LOUKA. You take her part against me, do you?

NICOLA (sedately). I shall always be dependent on the good will
of the family. When I leave their service and start a shop in
Sofea, their custom will be half my capital: their bad word
would ruin me.

LOUKA. You have no spirit. I should like to see them dare say a
word against me!

NICOLA (pityingly). I should have expected more sense from you,
Louka. But you're young, you're young!

LOUKA. Yes; and you like me the better for it, don't you? But I
know some family secrets they wouldn't care to have told, young
as I am. Let them quarrel with me if they dare!

NICOLA (with compassionate superiority). Do you know what they
would do if they heard you talk like that?

LOUKA. What could they do?

NICOLA. Discharge you for untruthfulness. Who would believe any
stories you told after that? Who would give you another
situation? Who in this house would dare be seen speaking to you
ever again? How long would your father be left on his little
farm? (She impatiently throws away the end of her cigaret, and
stamps on it.) Child, you don't know the power such high people
have over the like of you and me when we try to rise out of our
poverty against them. (He goes close to her and lowers his
voice.) Look at me, ten years in their service. Do you think I
know no secrets? I know things about the mistress that she
wouldn't have the master know for a thousand levas. I know
things about him that she wouldn't let him hear the last of for
six months if I blabbed them to her. I know things about Raina
that would break off her match with Sergius if--

LOUKA (turning on him quickly). How do you know? I never told
you!

NICOLA (opening his eyes cunningly). So that's your little
secret, is it? I thought it might be something like that. Well,
you take my advice, and be respectful; and make the mistress
feel that no matter what you know or don't know, they can depend
on you to hold your tongue and serve the family faithfully.
That's what they like; and that's how you'll make most out of
them.

LOUKA (with searching scorn). You have the soul of a servant,
Nicola.

NICOLA (complacently). Yes: that's the secret of success in
service.

(A loud knocking with a whip handle on a wooden
door, outside on the left, is heard.)

MALE VOICE OUTSIDE. Hollo! Hollo there! Nicola!

LOUKA. Master! back from the war!

NICOLA (quickly). My word for it, Louka, the war's over. Off
with you and get some fresh coffee. (He runs out into the stable
yard.)

LOUKA (as she puts the coffee pot and the cups upon the tray,
and carries it into the house). You'll never put the soul of a
servant into me.

(Major Petkoff comes from the stable yard,
followed by Nicola. He is a cheerful, excitable,
insignificant, unpolished man of about 50,
naturally unambitious except as to his income and
his importance in local society, but just now
greatly pleased with the military rank which the
war has thrust on him as a man of consequence in
his town. The fever of plucky patriotism which the
Servian attack roused in all the Bulgarians has
pulled him through the war; but he is obviously
glad to be home again.)

PETKOFF (pointing to the table with his whip). Breakfast out
here, eh?

NICOLA. Yes, sir. The mistress and Miss Raina have just gone in.

PETKOFF (fitting down and taking a roll). Go in and say I've
come; and get me some fresh coffee.

NICOLA. It's coming, sir. (He goes to the house door. Louka,
with fresh coffee, a clean cup, and a brandy bottle on her tray
meets him.) Have you told the mistress?

LOUKA. Yes: she's coming.

(Nicola goes into the house. Louka brings the
coffee to the table.)

PETKOFF. Well, the Servians haven't run away with you, have
they?

LOUKA. No, sir.

PETKOFF. That's right. Have you brought me some cognac?

LOUKA (putting the bottle on the table). Here, sir.

PETKOFF. That's right. (He pours some into his coffee.)

(Catherine who has at this early hour made only a
very perfunctory toilet, and wears a Bulgarian
apron over a once brilliant, but now half worn out
red dressing gown, and a colored handkerchief tied
over her thick black hair, with Turkish slippers
on her bare feet, comes from the house, looking
astonishingly handsome and stately under all the
circumstances. Louka goes into the house.)

CATHERINE. My dear Paul, what a surprise for us. (She stoops
over the back of his chair to kiss him.) Have they brought you